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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080371">a photograph (it couldn't be you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofcups/pseuds/queerofcups'>queerofcups</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Lovers To Enemies, Spies &amp; Secret Agents, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:06:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,402</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofcups/pseuds/queerofcups</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>No, they'll never catch us now // We will escape somehow</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dan Howell/Phil Lester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a photograph (it couldn't be you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>i.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>There’s someone outside of their room. They’re humming a little song under their breath, a tune that skates across Dan’s brain, almost, but not quite familiar. </p><p>They’ve been on this floor for the last fifteen minutes, passing periodically past their door, humming the whole time.</p><p>Phil’s been in the shower too long. The hotel is too expensive for thin walls, so all Dan can hear from the bathroom is the quiet thump of water against tile, and only if he strains. </p><p>Their clothes are folded and placed on respective surfaces--Dan’s on the velvet settee bench flush with the bed, Phil’s on the slightly gauche bookcase that’s been placed where a television set probably once was. If Dan moves too quickly toward his own clothes, where his small--nearly, but not quite delicate--gun lay, it’d be noisy. The floors are bare wood and the ceiling is high enough to echo. It’s a surprising feature for a hotel as preciously decorated as this one is, the kind of imperfection that makes Phil willing to stay at these places even if he thinks they’re pretentious. </p><p>He’d be at a disadvantage if he ran, turned around in the city. Dan’s Korean is rusty. He hasn’t been stationed here in years, not since the beginning of his career. This was a happenstance, him with a few days off and in transit from one side of the planet to the other. Phil’s the one who made his base here. </p><p>Dan closes his eyes, tries to hear anything over the humming and the shower. </p><p>There were always happenstances. The way they’d met in Sandhurst, the way they’d both been plucked by unnamed organizations immediately after graduation. </p><p>They way they kept finding their way back to each other. </p><p>Steam precedes Phil as he slides the door open. Dan’s fingers twitch. The humming stops. </p><p>Phil inhales, like he’s about to say something. There’s a sliding noise from the hallway and Dan rolls out of bed, grabbing for his weapon. </p><p>Phil tries to follow suit, but he’s slower, he’s always been slower. </p><p>There is hurt in his eyes when he realizes where Dan’s pointed his gun. His eyes are so big, so blue. They used to joke that if the whole spy thing didn’t work out, Phil could always be a Bond girl.  </p><p>Phil had worn a dress for him, just once. They’d both been on leave, snowed in together somewhere remote, maybe a safehouse, and it had been left by the previous occupants. Dan’s fingers had trembled, just a little, when he’d slipped them beneath the fabric, to find Phil’s skin below. He’d been warm, and he’d laughed about Dan tickling him. His eyes had been more green then, and less hurt. </p><p>“It’s got your name on it,” Phil says, and looks away from Dan (<em>never, never look away when the enemy has you</em>) and down at the envelope.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>ii.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s true. The envelope has Dan’s name on it. It has Phil’s picture inside. </p><p>Dan lets his arm drop (<em>Don’t hesitate. Don’t get distracted. Don’t miss the shot.</em>).</p><p>He stands, a gun in one hand, his boy in the other.</p><p>He’d let Phil get dressed. His clothes are the kind that make him disappear into a crowd. Jeans, trainers, an ugly but expensive t-shirt. Typical tourist, with just enough money to wander around the streets of Seoul. Just blithe enough to waste money on a night or two in an expensive hotel.</p><p>He doesn’t hesitate when Dan tells him to run, but he does look back. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>iii.</em>
</p><p>(<em>Never miss. Never miss. Never miss.</em>)</p><p>Dan’s not unaware of what he does, or why the people who paid him wanted him. A certain set of skills and all that. </p><p>The system works like this. He gets a photo. If he’s lucky, there’ll be a name or address attached. He finds the person. And then makes sure no one else will find them, ever again. Someone, somewhere, deposit an absurd amount of money into his account. He goes back to his life.</p><p>He’s never missed a mark. He’s only failed once, and it was on purpose, so it hardly counts as a failure at all. </p><p>Phil does a different job. Did. </p><p>He could find anyone, anywhere. He could find anything. And he always did it with a smile on his face. </p><p>It’s possible they worked for the same people. Both their paychecks came from faceless, formless voids with intentions neither of them were interested in.</p><p>What Dan knows is that Phil got the photos, the same as he did. And it was Phil’s job to make them disappear too, to make them untraceable. To give them new addresses, new names, new families. </p><p>Phil gave life. Dan took it away. They’re two opposing forces that kept bouncing apart, the wrong kind of magnetism. </p><p>That’s how Dan knows, when he finds Phil, it's because Phil wants him to. </p><p>It’s been a year and Dan can still remember the scent of the hotel body wash. That’s all Phil had smelled like, the last time they’d seen each other. </p><p>They’re somewhere near the border between Belarus and Ukraine, the kind of place that finds out years after the fact that there’s been a war and they don’t have the same names anymore. </p><p>Dan’s trying to remember Phil like he is. Eyes big and blue, mouth twitching into a smile. </p><p>The group they’d graduated with liked to play Russian Roulette. It’s the kind of thing neither he or Phil were interested in. There were a hundred ways to die, being a gay kid with a sharp tongue in a military school with the twinned bloody tastes of tradition and manliness on its tongue. There wasn’t a reason for either of them to court death when it was always around the corner. </p><p>But there was an understanding. You had to prove yourself one way or another. </p><p>Phil had played once and only once. He’d pulled the trigger with a smile on his face. Dan had figured out that he was in love with Phil then, because his chest clenched the same way every time Phil smiled, regardless of the circumstances.</p><p>Phil smiles and Dan’s chest clenches. That’s just the way things are. </p><p>There’s a bounty on Phil’s head, and Dan doesn’t know why. There are people like Dan, the kind that get a photo and go from there. They all have Phil’s photo burned into their brains. </p><p>But Dan’s the only one who can name all of his smiles. He’s the only one who knows where every scar comes from. He’s the only one who can imagine the way Phil had frowned and squinted at his laptop when he’d found somewhere properly secluded for them to kill each other, one last time. </p><p>Phil slides a folder across the warehouse floor. </p><p>Dan doesn’t drop his arm this time, keeps the gun pointed. He picks up the folder, lets it fall open. </p><p>There are papers--passports, IDs.</p><p>New names, new families, new lives. </p><p>“I have another set,” Phil says, “If you don’t like these.”</p><p>Dan’s hands don’t shake. </p><p>“Come with me,” Phil says. </p><p>Dan keeps looking. His hands don’t shake. He doesn’t lower his arm. </p><p>“Dan,” Phils says. Dan can see his chest rise and fall with every breath. </p><p>He has a flat. It's normal. Muted colors. A circular bed. There’s not much to replace. A few dog-eared books. The only two photos of himself as an adult that he has. Phil’s in both of them. </p><p>He’s got a bank account that’s had a leak for a year. Someone’s been siphoning money off. Every time he gets a new payment, there’s a little bit missing. It's enough for a nice, long life together. </p><p>Since he took this job, Dan’s never missed a shot. </p><p>Phil’s mouth tastes like sugar. He’s a fiend. He used to secret little candies into Dan’s pockets, only to dig them out later, when he wanted Dan to notice. </p><p>“Take me somewhere warm,” Dan says, mouth brushing Phil’s. </p><p>“Safe houses on the coast of the Adriatic Sea,” Phil says, “Already set up. I have your pictures.”</p><p>“You have to trust me,” Dan sighs, “Even though. Even after this.”</p><p>Phil laughs, “I never stopped.”</p><p>Phil gives life. </p><p>Dan kisses him again and nods. </p><p>And when other people find the warehouse, when they burst in with Phil’s photo and both their old names, it’s been empty for weeks. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title is from "The Bagman's Gambit" by The Decemberists.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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